


Fearful

by Northlight (anenko)



Series: Family Portraits [3]
Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Early Fandom, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-22
Updated: 2001-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenko/pseuds/Northlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tinga visits Brin, and angst is shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearful

Brin had drawn her gun and aimed towards the window in the space between thoughts. "Tinga," Brin said, voice cool and sharp with the lingering readiness to kill.

Tinga had unfolded in front of the window. Brin hadn't lowered her weapon yet. Tinga stood loosely, her hands limp at her sides, palms outwards. "Nice neighbourhood," Tinga said, sardonic.

"It keeps me on my toes," Brin said. She lowered her gun, fitted it back into the holster at her side. She swept analytical eyes across her sister's body. Tension screamed through the relaxed pose, visible to those who knew how to read Tinga. Her lips were thinned. Fine lines were visible around her mouth and eyes. "You look," Brin said, "like shit." She wasn't without sympathy.

Tinga's lips twitched, humourless. "Yeah. I suppose I do," she said.

"Tinga," Brin said, and her voice sounded sharp even to her own ears. "Tinga," Brin said again, softer. "Why are you here?"

"I need," Tinga said. She drew in a deep breath and let it out as a barely audible hiss. "I need your help, Brin. I need you to listen. Charlie doesn't know--he can't know the entirety of this situation. Zack wouldn't be of help, not with his biases firmly in place. You're as neutral as I can manage, Brin."

"Okay," Brin said. "Okay. Sit down, then." Brin swept a careful hand in the direction of her sparsely decorated living room. Brin could smell hard travel upon Tinga's flesh and clothes as she moved towards the ratty brown armchair nearest to the window. "Food? Drink? Anything?" Brin wasn't a good hostess. She didn't enjoy the expected niceties, didn't ask people into her shelter.

"Oh," Tinga said. She rested her right hand against her eyes. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Water would be nice," Tinga said. She lowered her hand and laced right and left against her stomach.

Tinga didn't turn in her seat. Brin could feel Tinga tracking her movements. The tap was a sudden screech as Brin twisted on the water. She let it cool as she pulled a glass from the neatly arranged rows in the cupboard. She filled it near to the brim. The water didn't slosh over the top when Brin moved back into the living room. She pressed the glass into Tinga's carefully still hands and sat down on the longer couch across from Tinga's chair.

Tinga took a cautious sip, grimaced, and set the glass down on the floor next to her foot. "This is hard."

Brin crossed her feet at the ankles. She lay her hands palm down on her knees. She looked at Tinga and tried to look interested without pressuring. Tinga flickered a glance in Brin's direction from beneath her lashes, and Brin knew that her face was a blank. "Take your time," Brin said.

They both heard the gunshots, not more than a few blocks away. Screaming, loud and shrill. "Doesn't that bother you?" Tinga asked, mild. She had twitched minutely at the sound of the weapon being discharged. Instincts and training still well tuned.

Brin's shoulder lifted slightly. "It wasn't like this when I moved in. It isn't bad." The neighbourhood had gone from bad to war zone with amazing speed. At night, Brin could hear everything. She dreamt of bursts of gunfire and the scent of fresh blood.

"Hmm," Tinga murmured. Her right index finger was moving in small circles against her knee.

"Tell me," Brin said.

"Right. Okay," Tinga said. "I'm. I'm happy. Really."

"Okay," Brin agreed.

"Zack didn't want me to get married."

"No."

"He thought it would be too hard. Dangerous."

"Right."

"Charlie doesn't know," Tinga said, suddenly angry. "He doesn't know! He won't see."

"You haven't told him," Brin said. She envied Tinga her happiness. She couldn't comprehend how Tinga had been able to allow herself such an emotion. She kept her voice even, calm.

"I can't. I tried to show him. I do things I shouldn't be able to do. He doesn't ask." Tinga bent her head, rubbed at her mouth. "Brin. I don't know what to do, Brin."

Brin leaned back into her seat. Her eyes slid to the side, allowing Tinga some slight degree of privacy as she regained her control. She tried not to listen to the rasp of Tinga's breath, to ignore the subtle scent of tears. "This isn't about Charlie."

"No. Yes. Partially," Tinga said, her voice a bit rough. "I'm pregnant."

Brin's eyes flickered shut. Her hands curled in on themselves, nails biting into her palms. "Pregnant," Brin said. The word didn't fit properly against her lips. Tinga noticed. She looked up, eyes sharp. Brin spoke before Tinga could. "You aren't happy."

Tinga huffed. "Fuck. No. I'm. Oh. Oh, Brin. I'm fucking terrified."

"Okay," Brin said. "Okay. We'll think this through. I'll help you think about this. You're afraid."

"Of being a bad mother. Of not knowing _how_. Of loosing my baby. Charlie. Of getting caught. Everything. You know, Brin. You know what this means. I told myself that I could leave Charlie if I had to. I can't just run anymore. Not with a baby."

"You don't have to have the baby, Tinga. I know people. They could help you," Brin said.

"No! No," Tinga said, horrified. "I couldn't do that."

"We all do what we find necessary to survive," Brin said and shrugged.

"You," Tinga said.

"A long time ago," Brin answered. She hadn't handled that well. She had lost control on more levels than she could bear. Control was important. Necessary. Vital.

"Brin."

"It's okay. I don't want to talk about that," Brin said. She had been young, and scared, and furious.

Tinga looked away. They tried not to stare each other's pain full in the face. Tinga let a minute slip by. "I was so careful," but Brin had found that birth-control pills acted strangely with their unique biology, and condoms were often forgotten in the rush of heat-induced need. "Careful," Tinga said, soft. "Charlie wants a family. He'd be a good father."

"He would look after the child," Brin said.

"He shouldn't have to. Not alone," Tinga said. "Brin. Tell me, Brin. Please. Was I wrong?"

"Wrong," Brin said.

"To let myself live," Tinga said.

"I. Oh. Damn it. Damn it, Tinga," Brin said, hard. "None of us know. I can't do what you did--I can't let myself get close to anyone. I can't let myself feel comfortable anywhere. I want to, but I can't. You took a chance. We don't know how that will turn out in the end. Maybe you're right--maybe when it's all over, happiness wins over safety."

"You didn't help," said Tinga.

"No."

"A baby," Tinga breathed. "My child."

"I think you'd be a good mother, Tinga. We're hard, paranoid, mildly to thoroughly fucked in the head. But you're more. You love Charlie. You tried--that means something."

"You think?"

"I said, didn't I?"

"And the rest?"

"You thought of all this before you married Charlie. You thought it was worth the risk then. You want this baby," Brin said, certain, sad.

"I do. I didn't think it would be like this. I want this. I'm scared out of my mind."

"That's okay. I can understand that you're frightened," Brin said, surprised at how easily Tinga fitted fear to words. Weakness had been a sin at Manticore. Brin looked at Tinga's slumped shoulders. She rose, crossed the space between them. "Go take a shower. Clean towels are in the laundry basket on my bed."

"Brin," Tinga said.

"No. Go ahead. We have enough hot water." Brin smiled to soften her words. "You smell."

Tinga snorted. "Right. Thanks."

"Is Charlie expecting you back at a specific time?"

"No. I barely told him anything before I left. He'll be worried," Tinga said, soft.

"Okay. Take your shower. Call him. You can stay the night. I have enough room here," Brin said. She patted at the thick coils of hair pinned in place at the back of Tinga's neck.

Tinga lifted an eyebrow. "A sleep-over," she said, smiling.

Brin huffed her amusement. "Right. Right. We'll do each other's hair."

"Paint our nails."

"Talk about men."

"Give ourselves facials."

"I'll let you clean my gun."

"Right," Tinga said. "Wouldn't be a party otherwise."

Damn. "Go on. The shower's waiting," Brin said. She moved out of Tinga's personal space and let the other woman rise. "You're okay."

"I'm okay," Tinga agreed.

"Bedroom," Brin said, pointing to a closed door. "Bathroom. I'll find some clean clothes for you."

"I won't take long," Tinga said. She went into Brin's room. She moved with the same quick efficiency Brin remembered. Tinga came out moments later, stripped to her t-shirt and underwear, holding a folded towel and washcloth.

"The cold water tap sticks," Brin said.

Tinga nodded.

Brin found a pair of sweat-pants at the back of her drawer that she thought would fit Tinga. She folded them and a fresh t-shirt and placed them at the foot of the bed next to Tinga's jacket. In the living room, Brin picked up Tinga's full glass of water--warm now. She poured the water down the drain, cleaned the glass and set it precisely back into place in the cupboard. She could hear the fall of water against flesh and tiles. Tinga had opened up Brin's shampoo. The apartment filled with the scent of apples.

Brin was scrubbing at her kitchen counters when Tinga came in, dressed in the clothes Brin had laid out. She rested in the doorway, arms folded in front of her. "I feel better," Tinga said. Thank you, her voice said.

"Good," Brin said. "Your hair must take forever to dry," she commented, looking up from the wet trail she was leaving on the counter.

Tinga touched a dark strand. "Nearly," she said. There were darker splotches of grey on Tinga's shirt where her hair was dripping. "I don't mind."

"No."

"It was starting to grow out, and I didn't have to cut it. And I felt free," Tinga explained.

"There's a pay-phone down the block," Brin said.

"Coming?"

"If you'd like."

"I said."

"Sure. I'm coming."

"I missed you," Tinga said when they were on the street outside.

"I know," Brin answered. "I'm glad you're here."

"I should have come sooner," Tinga said.

"It's okay," Brin said.

"Brin," Tinga said. "No. It isn't."

"No," Brin sighed. "Not really. I understand."

"I know. I know you do."

"You're going to have a family, Tinga. A real family."

"You're family," Tinga said.

"You're going to have a family you won't have to pretend doesn't exist," Brin said. She touched Tinga's arm. "Phone," she said and jutted her chin towards the left. "Reassure the man. I'll stay here."

Tinga lay her hand on Brin's cheek. Brin caught Tinga's hand. They looked at each other, solemn. They released each other at the same time. Brin sank down to the edge of the sidewalk. She tilted her head up and looked at the sky and listened to Tinga's voice as it changed and knew she was talking to Charlie.


End file.
